SONGS, &c, SONG

Whene'er my Patty trips the green, I feel a pleasing pain; She gives a lustre to the scene, The Dian of the plain.

How does my heart with rapture heave, When for an humble bow, A grateful curtsey I receive; Say, is it love or no.

Would I a happy shepherd were, And she a shepherd's maid, That I might tell my tale sincere, Beneath some rural shade.

But now with awe I view each charm, And fear my flame to own, Lest she shou'd all my love disarm, With one indignant frown.

Ye Gods inspire me to the deed, Incline the maid to hear, For, O I love! I love indeed! And with a heart sincere.

List, lovely Patty, to my strain, And ease my tortur'd breast; Ye Gods, I'd never more complain, If once with Patty blest.